Eric steps on my toe again.

“Fuck,” he says, frustrated—angry even—as he looks down at our feet.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “Relax. Deep breath.”

“This isn’t the easiest thing in the world for me.”

We’ve only had two tango lessons so far, and we definitely have a lot to work on, so we’ve taken a break tonight, pushed the coffee table against the couch to make space for a dance floor as a tango song plays in a loop for us to practice.

I’m kind of glad Carolyn encouraged us to try this. As much as I know this has a greater benefit for Eric, I’m enjoying getting to share this with him.

We start once again and make it maybe three steps before he trips up and stops. “Can you lead more with your chest, like Raul said?”

“Remember, the whole idea is for you to let go of that need for control,” I remind him.

He sighs, seeming as frustrated as ever with this whole thing. Like he’s angry with himself for not being able to do this right away.

“Hey, hey, hey, Eric, it’s okay. Everything’s fine. We’re both learning this together, and I’m fucking up plenty, but you have to accept that we’re going to make a mess of it a little bit in the beginning.”

He chuckles for the first time since we started practicing a little over fifteen minutes ago. I can tell because of how many times the song has started over.

“Knowing that I need to do this to help with the other stuff,” Eric says, “adds pressure, you know?”

“Then let’s pretend for a moment that it’s not related to anything, okay? We’re two idiots trying to learn to tango for tango’s sake.”

“Easier said than done.”

I start singing the words to “Hounds of Love” by Kate Bush, sort of to the music that’s playing, but mainly creating my own annoying song in my shit-voice.

He cringes, then says, “Those aren’t the words.”

“Shut up and keep moving.”

He follows, and I can already feel that he isn’t as tense as before. Once again, I’ve broken through yet another barrier he’s put up. My favorite game.

“You’re an awful singer, Jesse.”

“I’m your awful singer, and with a face like this, do I really need to be good at singing?”

He laughs heartily before saying, “Not when you’re that gorgeous…and cocky.”

“Well, you know I love anything involving cock.” I wink as we continue in our circle around the room.

Again, he stumbles. “Shit.”

“It’s all good,” I assure him, and I continue with the Kate Bush song. “Do you know what I really need? Do you know what I really need? I need la-la-la-la-yay-yo-yay-yo-your love.”

His gaze meets mine, and I see that desire in his eyes, like when we first met. Although, it’s different now.

Back then, it was just this inexplicable chemistry between us, but now I see much more in his gaze, as though he can see so much more of me—the way I see more of him since that first electric handshake that made me hungry for Eric in a way I’ve never been hungry for anyone in my entire life.

He woke something within me that I don’t know if I’ll ever entirely understand.

But I don’t need to understand it—all I need is Eric.

It’s not perfect, no. We’re just starting on our journey, and we’ve hardly made a dent with therapy, but we’re taking those first steps. It’s a process, but like with tango, it’s a journey—one I’m eager to take since it’s with him. And each time we get through a counseling session, or with yoga, or a tango lesson, I feel like I get to know him better. I get to know the man who is so much more than the front he shows the world, the front he puts up because of how he was injured so long ago.

“I don’t think I want to keep dancing right now,” he says, squatting down, hooking his arm around me, and throwing me over his shoulder. “Definitely time for me to take the lead.”

“Okay,” I say as he carries me to the bedroom, “but we are getting back to tango later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, tossing me onto the bed. “All in good time.”

We work together, pulling off each other’s clothes. There’s an added intensity to it…as though he wants to take some of his tango frustration out on me—something that’s more than fine with me.

He grabs the lube from the nightstand, and I notice the condoms we still have in there, which we haven’t used in months.

Reminds me of how far we’ve come.

He slathers lube across his cock before moving close and pushing steadily within me. I adjust and relax, appreciating that determined and excited expression across his face.

“How does it feel?” he asks, a question that means so much more to me now that I know more about him, now that I know why he’s always cared so much about my own pleasure, especially with how little his was considered on that horrifying day.

“It feels so goddamn good.” I moan immediately after as he pushes farther in.

He sets his hand behind my neck while wrapping another under my arm as he begins thrusting, his thick girth reaching farther and farther.

I roll my head back, enjoying the sensation, loving that I’m able to share this with him, loving how close we are.

I’m lost in my own pleasure when I look up at him and realize he’s gazing down at me, not offering the usual kisses, just watching my own arousal.

He glances down at my dick, which is leaking precum.

“Do you like watching what you do to me?” I ask him.

“I love seeing you get so worked up. How you get totally lost in it. Let go entirely. I love being the reason you’re so happy, and excited, and on edge…feeling so good. I want to keep being the reason you’re like this.”

“I want to be the reason you feel good too. Do you mind if I kiss you?”

He chuckles. “You’re good at this affirmative-consent thing.”

“I’m good at a lot of things,” I tease.

“Yes, I would love if you kissed me, Jesse Morgan.” He’s not joking, though, so I lean up and take his lips.

He licks and nips, his hot breath pushing against my face as he feels his fingers across my body and offers another powerful thrust.

Like on so many other nights, he rocks my world. His passion, his intensity, his frustration, his appreciation, all reveal themselves as we continue fucking.

When he’s got me on my knees, facing the headboard, gripping it with both hands as he takes me from behind, he jerks me off while inside me. He leans down close, and I turn to see his face.

“You’re about to come,” he tells me.

He knows my body that well now. He can tell by every movement I make, the same way I can tell that he’s about to come.

Almost as if he was demanding I shoot my load, I erupt. He twists and jerks before doing the same within me. We pant together before our lips meet once again. We come down from the experience together, not in any rush, not racing to clean up.

We lie together so that soon I’m in his arms, him gazing down at me with a familiar look of satisfaction across his face. I imagine mine is equally easy to read.

“What is it?” I ask as I notice his expression shift to something more serious.

“I don’t like how easy it is for you to read me. Most people aren’t that good at it.”

“Well, most people aren’t as amazing as me.”

He smiles. “No, they aren’t. I was thinking that one day, I hope you’re able to give me what I clearly am able to give you in moments like this. That I’ll be able to bottom for you.”

“We’ll get there, Eric. It might take us a little longer than it does for most people, and we might be a little more fucked up, but I think we’re on the right path now. Don’t you?”

“For sure, mostly about the fucked-up part,” he teases.

“Whatever. You have to admit you have kind of an incredible boyfriend.” I cock a brow.

His eyes narrow. “Look at that conceited expression…like you know what you’ve claimed.”

“What have I claimed?”

“My heart.”

“It’s only fair, Eric, since you’ve already claimed mine.”

And as he kisses me once again, I appreciate the moment, this satisfaction that we’re here for each other. Yes, there’s work to be done. No, we’re not perfect, and we probably never will be, but I’m fine with this journey we’re on, as long as I’m on it with Eric.

One day at a time…one step at a time…